


Dear John: Later Hours

by AVeryPlumPlum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Dear John Fandom, Dear john, Epistolary, M/M, Remix, The Apology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVeryPlumPlum/pseuds/AVeryPlumPlum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early morning sleeplessness at 221B. A headcanon/remix inspired by wendymarlowe's Dear John. A "what might have happened after."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear John: Later Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dear John](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979) by [wendymarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe). 



Dear Sherlock, 

I can’t sleep. It’s 4 a.m. and I’m exhausted from the last few days, physically and emotionally, but I can’t sleep. So I’m writing you a letter. 

You’re currently curled up next to me, your head partially under the pillow, and you are snoring. You’d probably never admit to snoring, but it’s rather loud. You’re keeping me awake. 

You’ve been keeping me awake at night for years, you know, in one way or another. 

When we first started living together, you dragged me around at all hours of the night and kept me awake for days doing research for you, and I was so damn exhausted all the time but I loved it and you knew that. 

Then you were gone and I couldn’t sleep because it hurt too much and I dreamed of you and that hurt worse but staying awake was painful too. 

And then I “met” William. And I spent some nights lying awake, wondering what in the hell I was doing. I didn’t want to get over you. I didn’t want to move on. But I had to live - we don’t just die because someone we love is gone, no matter how much we want to. So I decided to try. To live, that is. 

And William turned out to be amazing. He was something I hadn’t even realized I needed. I don’t know if it’s just hindsight now, but I think at least subconsciously I liked him so much because he reminded me of you. William gave me hope, and reassurance, and helped me work out some things. I felt a little more like living when I was talking to William. I felt confident in my sexuality in a way that I hadn’t before when I was talking to William. 

And then William turned out to be you. 

I may never be able to express to you the shock that I felt when I saw you sitting there. I thought I had lost my mind. Your voice saying, “Hello John” after all that time. I’m not a man who shares his feelings well, but after the last few weeks, I have to confess I’m raw. 

I am sorry that I decked you, though. 

I got to thinking about all the things I had shared with William and I was hurt and humiliated and how in the hell was I supposed to trust you? You weren’t that man before you left. You weren’t open like William. You weren’t shy but sexy like William. You WEREN’T WILLIAM before you left. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t just another trick? More lies? 

Now, after we’ve talked, I understand that the things you went through changed you. I understand that nearly losing your life can change a man’s priorities. I’ve been there myself. And I did always know you were human underneath, no matter how much you always tried to deny it, and no matter how much you always pissed me off. I knew you weren’t really a machine even when you wanted to be. And now that I have the chance, by the way, I’m sorry that I said that. 

Reading that you are wildly in love with me? I was so angry, Sherlock, but how could I ignore that? I wanted it so badly to be true. I wanted so badly for you and William to be the same, even if I didn’t believe it was possible. 

 

 

 

Dear John, 

I guess you’ve finally given up. 

I suspect you’d been awake for around 36 hours, so that’s to be expected. I found this unfinished letter on your laptop beside the bed where it slid off when you fell asleep. Thankfully it landed on the pillows we tossed down there so no damage was done. 

I do not snore. You were clearly kept awake by something other than the sound of me snoring. 

However, at this moment, you are making noise enough to wake Mrs. Hudson. And I’d imagine after the last day she’s rather tired of being disturbed. 

John, I know that words are difficult for you. They are for me as well. Perhaps that’s why it was so much easier to show you a different side of myself as William. It was a safety barrier, a self-preservation, in many ways. Do you see that now? I could not let on that I was actually alive, because you or I could be killed. I could not let on that I was myself, because some of your words might have had the capacity to kill as much as my enemies’ bullets. 

You are right in your assessment that I was not William before I left, in anything more than a dull first name that I had never before used. But the man you spoke to, as I have told you often over the last few days, was very much who I am, or at least who I am becoming. Being away did change me. Nearly losing my life did change me. Nearly losing you changed me even more. And speaking with you again, sharing things with you that I have never shared with another person before? Well, let’s just say I will never be the same. 

God, John, the things that you have done to me. 

You’ve forced me to confront my once-accursed humanity in some rather potent ways. 

Let’s be fair here. You didn’t let me know you were bisexual before I left, either. 

I was so stunned, on Christmas, to read the things you were saying to me. I never expected you to ever think those things, much less say them. Much less actually do them. 

Even less, to do them to me, as you have done now. 

I never expected to crave those things. I never had even wanted them much before. 

You have changed me into a creature who wants, John. 

On Christmas, I wanted. I wanted so badly that I put myself at risk and nearly compromised everything. 

In hospital, I wanted. In recovery, I wanted. I craved and yearned and wanted and wanted. 

When you finally gave me the chance to explain, and finally listened, and finally put your arms around me and told me you could forgive, I could have burst open with all the wanting. I’ve never been so out of control in my desires before, not even in the darkest depths of addiction. 

I am a man who WANTS, John. 

I want your hands on my body and your eyes on my skin. I want your mouth to tremble against mine, always, as it did when we kissed for the first time. I’m lying here naked in bed, next to your own naked body, and I’m thinking about the things that have happened. I can’t help it. Suddenly this man you’ve turned me into is insatiable. 

When we kissed, both so shaken and uncertain, I could barely hold myself still I was trembling so. Could you feel me shaking? I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. And then you closed your eyes and opened your lips, and mine with them, and I’ve never wanted so desperately in all my life. How did you kiss me in a way that said I was loved, and desired, and forgiven? I felt it when you did. Did we kiss for hours? We must have. Do you see how you have changed me? 

I will forgive you for dulling the sharpness of my mind in those moments when you have awakened my brain to new delights of sensation. In other words, you make me stupid with arousal. And somehow that’s all right. 

I could at least see the moment when your defenses finally broke completely. We had been kissing for quite some time, and your hands were in my hair, and then suddenly you shifted and slid them down my back to my arse, pulling me tighter against you. I could feel you, hard against my hip, and I couldn’t control the sound I made. You pulled back and looked at me then, and maybe you realized I was far from faking it. At that point I wanted you so badly I could taste the arousal in my own mouth. “What would you do, if you could?” I whispered, “Because now you know you can.” I loved how quickly you reacted to that. I seemed to have lit a fire within you. Did it turn you on for me to whisper William’s words to you? Did it remind you how incredible our encounters were? It must have reminded you about all the things we said we were going to do to each other, because you started coming out of your clothing quite quickly then. Shirtless, my chest against your masculine chest, your hands were suddenly everywhere, all over me, and I was finding it ridiculously hard to breathe. Your mouth from my neck to my nipples made me gasp and squirm and Jesus, John, I was so hard. (I’m so hard right now, remembering it all, but I’m trying to let you sleep for a while). 

Have you ever been so aroused that you could feel it in the palms of your hands and soles of your feet? When you unzipped my trousers and slipped your hand inside the anticipation was so great I could feel it pulsing to my fingertips. And then you touched me. Oh, God, John, the feel of your hands on me. I know I cried out, because you looked up at me and smiled. “You really do want this,” you said, as if there could possibly be a doubt that I wanted you more than air. I was hard as steel and wet to your fingertips as they slipped over the head of my cock. 

I never imagined you’d be so daring John, as to slip your fingers into your mouth for a taste. I never imagined I’d be so daring, either, as to dart forward to lick the taste of myself off your fingers and your tongue. The look in your eyes was molten. 

Suddenly then we were just two men, blatant in our desire for each other, kissing and groping and moaning together. You kept your promise to take charge at first, baring my body for your pleasure, your mouth sliding across my skin. You kept your promise to swallow down as much of me as you could, to learn my taste - I have not forgotten what you wrote. I will NEVER forget how that felt. I won’t forget how it felt to surprise you, to pull you up into my lap, to touch you and stroke you and press our erections together for the first time, to wrap my hands around us both and slide together until we were sobbing and wet and messy with pleasure. 

I find that I want to write these things out to you, even though you were there, so that I can replay them over and over again in my mind while I describe them. I want to put into words, the way so much of our relationship has come to light, the hope I felt when we kissed naked in the sitting room in 221B, splattered with semen, unwilling to stop even then. How we kept kissing even while catching our breath, until you got up and wandered from the room, still gloriously naked, and invited me to follow you into my own old bedroom. 

I loved watching your body as it moved. I loved how unashamed you were. It made me feel bold and unashamed myself, so I followed you with the determination to ask for and take what I wanted. 

I wanted to keep my promises to you, as well. 

That’s why I asked you if you remembered the things I said. You answered me that you had reread every word we wrote to each other over and over again. And we talked about it. And laughed. 

John I have missed laughing with you so much. I don’t laugh like that with anyone else, and never considered that I would even care about such a seemingly trivial thing. 

But when I asked you that question I wasn’t trying to initiate a conversation, as much as I may have enjoyed it. I was feeling bold, remember? 

I was trying to initiate boldly flipping you onto your stomach and spreading you open. I was trying to initiate licking you until you were hard again, licking you until your toes clenched, licking you until your thighs were shivering and tensing under my hands. I think I succeeded, wouldn’t you say? I love the noises you made when I did that, when I held you down and flattened my tongue against your arsehole. You practically shouted, John. You shouted again when you came all over my pillow, rocking between my tongue and my fist. I’ve never relished the words “Oh fuck, Sherlock” like I do now. I find myself delighted by how filthy you can be in bed. I was certainly delighted when, as promised, you returned the favor. Oh, God, John now I’m thinking about your tongue against my thighs, and you suckling on my bollocks, and your fingers pressing into me, and damn if I don’t have to calm myself down a bit because I’m shifting and sweating and I really don’t want to wake you up. But I really do want to wake you up. I’m going to wait until dawn at least, and let you rest, and then wake you with kisses and nuzzling, stroking and sucking, and remind you of some other things we promised in our correspondence. Like my promise to let you test just how flexible I am. And your promise to give me a “good seeing to.” I did agree to be your first, after all. 

I can’t help but imagine it, lying here watching you sleep. You’re so strong. I’d want you to hold me up against your chest while you take me from behind, or bend me forward and make me grip onto the headboard. Or maybe pull my arse into your lap and wrap my legs around your waist while you fuck into me until I’m the one shouting. Insatiable, I told you. 

I thought that I had a low libido. I always seemed to. No one interested me the way that you do. No one has captured my attention. No one surprises me like you do, John. And it seems that without even realizing it, I’ve become addicted to you. 

Most surprising of all is that I want to change for you, maybe most of all because you never really asked me to. I want to make promises to you and keep them. That terrifies me, honestly. I’m afraid of some of the changes but I can see the need for them. I’m not actually an idiot, you know, as much as you love to say it. I was far more terrified of losing you because of what I’ve done than I am of changing. Letting you see me as William showed that to me. Again John, I’m so sorry. 

I promise that I will never lie to you again. I promise that I won’t leave you. 

I’m the same Sherlock you knew before, and the same William, because of you. 

You are stirring and I’m overwhelmed, and still quite hard despite coming over a bit sentimental. I’ll show this to you later. Perhaps I’ll write some more, or you can write another letter to me. 

I love you. I’m not afraid to say it now. 

Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @Benbatched on Twitter for being my patient beta and friend.


End file.
